Lines In The Sand
by pharo
Summary: Drinks in Fiji lessen the pain.


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Lines In The Sand

Author: Pharo

Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to ABC, Bad Robot, and JJ Abrams.

Summary: Drinks in Fiji lessen the pain.

Spoilers: "Double Agent."

Notes: CM Challenge.

Feedback: pharo@newyork.com

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'so take this wine and drink with me, let's delay our misery…' – Eagle-Eye Cherry, _Save Tonight_

His life had been intertwined with hers for so long, and now she's gone, and they expect him to be fine in four weeks. 

They flash him sympathetic glances and pat him on the back as he leaves the CIA headquarters. They tell him that the trip to Fiji will reinforce the fact that he can go on without her. In truth, they know he'll break and they just don't want to be there when it happens.

They send her to keep an eye on him. They tell her that they're worried about him when they pass the file – a statement they both know is not entirely the truth. He's a valuable agent; they've given him years of training to make him one of the best. They can't afford to lose him.

"Why me?" she asks when they pass her the file.

"You can identify with what he's going through," one of them says quickly.

Her hand automatically goes to the finger on which she used to wear her engagement ring and it feels as if she's reliving the pain. She hears the crunch as the soles of her shoes step over the shards of glass of the broken window littering the bathroom – they were smart enough to make it look like a break in. She sees the trail of blood and tries to stop the bile from rising up, tries to will her eyes to stop following it, to look away before she can see that it leads to him. It had been the same then because at that moment, she knew something had happened. 

A million thoughts go through her mind when she sees him – hundreds of alternate endings because it isn't supposed to end that way – and she can't see through the tears anymore. She can't do anything but slump down on the cold linoleum floor and cry; he's gone and it's her fault.

"Ms. Bristow?" one of them calls and she is back in the conference room, the cold tile gone, the past buried once more.

She sighs because she knows they are right. If not her, they will send someone else to make sure he comes home – they are ruthless like that. 

"I could use a vacation," she says.

They smile. He'll break, she'll mend him back together, and their best agents will be back to work in four weeks. 

————

She contemplates avoiding him at the airport, observing without alerting him to her presence – she knows that's what they want her to do – but decides against it. It's a form of rebellion – she will do this on her own terms. It's a little detail to make her feel better about spying on him. 

He chuckles when she sits in the empty chair next to him in the waiting area. He had a feeling that they would send someone by the ease with which they granted him some time off. They had never given up that easily and he hadn't expected that they would start for him.

"I've never been to Fiji before, either," she tells him. 

"I'm not going to visit tourist attractions," he says bitterly.

She sees resentment in his eyes. She understands where his anger is coming from – he shouldn't be making his first trip to Fiji with her. 

"I'm not trying to make this hard for you, Jim," she says. 

She wants to tell him that this wasn't her idea, but he's already gone back to staring at the screen with the departure times.

————

He spends most of the trip to Fiji drinking down scotch. She watches him from her seat in the middle aisle, turning her head toward his window seat every so often to see if he's passed out or not. She glances over when the flight attendants pass through the aisles with the food carts to make sure he's picked a meal and isn't just relying on alcohol to keep going. 

She reminds herself that he doesn't need her spying on him. It is their job to be able to handle the stress of the job. 

She allows herself to relax only when he falls asleep against the window with an empty glass in his hand. He can deal with this, but she feels the need to look out for him anyway. 

He needs someone on his side.

————

He doesn't remember the plane landing or the taxicab ride to the little summerhouse. She tells him that she's staying in the guestroom and all he can think is that she's not holding up to her part of the deal to stay out of his way. He doesn't remember anything more than the fuzziness he felt while searching for another bottle of tequila. 

The next morning, she assures him that she's not lying when he's leaning over the toilet. Her voice seems to echo off the walls of his mind and pick up volume each time. He slowly asks her to stop talking so loudly. She tells him she's not. He doesn't know if he believes her. He doesn't know if it even matters whether she's telling him the truth or not. He watches her walk away from the bathroom door. His head stops hurting long enough for him to follow her into the kitchen and sit on one of the breakfast stools.

"I don't want to pretend like you're not spying on me," he says. 

"Would you have preferred it if I didn't let you know I was here?"

She places a cup of coffee on the breakfast bar.

"Watching over you isn't my idea of fun either, Jim," she says looking at him. "Do you always deal with your problems in this way?"

He moves the coffee mug away and pours himself a glass of wine.

"Special circumstances," he mutters. "Cheers."

Her expression softens at this. He doesn't bother raising the glass before taking a sip. She shakes her head but doesn't stop him. He wishes she would stop looking at him like that – it makes him feel guilty about hurting.

"This is the way it's going to be for four weeks?" she asks.

"This," he replies, "is the way it's going to be."

She looks at him for a second before pouring herself a drink.

————

He has a revelation during one of the rare instances when he's sober enough to make sense. His life has always been based on order and structure and he realizes now that he needs to draw that line in the sand to set his limitations. He needs a system if for no other reason than to save his liver.

"We need to set some rules," he tells her over black coffee.

She lifts her head off the cool counter to look at him. The same voice, the same expressive eyes – in the half-shadows of the dimly lit room, he almost reminds her of Danny. 

"What rules?" she asks after a moment. 

"Designated driver."

"What?"

"We can't go out and drink at the same time. One of us has to be sober—"

"We don't go anywhere."

"That's not the point," he says in exasperation.

"Well then?"

"I just mean – I don't want either one of us to do anything stupid."

"We're already doing something stupid," she says, motioning around the room with her hand. 

He sighs in exasperation as he gets up from the stool.

"I mean really, who the hell drinks coffee in this heat?" she shouts as he disappears into the kitchen.

Both of the patio doors and half of the windows are open and yet, she can't stop the beads of sweat from running down her back. All the wind seems to have disappeared from their part of the world and she can feel the heat creep up on her again. She picks up another ice cube from the tray and touches it to her forehead. She half-expects it to turn into steam within seconds, but instead, she feels the little stream of cool water travel past her hand and down her arm. 

"Here," he says, pushing a carton toward her when he comes back.

"What is this?" she asks, squinting to read the words.

"Ice cream."

She smiles as he hands over a spoon. She carves out a chunk and drops it into her coffee mug with a plop. She grins at him and he just shakes his head.

"As I was saying," he says, digging another spoon into the carton, "we need a plan so we don't do something we'll regret later."

"What kind of plan?"

"I stay sober when you drink. You stay sober when—"

"Jim, that takes all of the fun out of drinking," she says with a grin.

"You've got a boyfriend."

"What does Vaughn have to do with—"

"I don't want to sleep with you."

She laughs.

"What makes you think we'd sleep together?"

"If we got drunk—"

"I wouldn't sleep with you," she replies. "I've got more self-control than that."

He laughs and is surprised at how foreign it sounds to his ears.

"Hey, I was just trying to save your relationship," he says.

"My relationship doesn't need saving. What are you really afraid of?"

He quickly shakes his head and takes scoops out some more ice cream.

"Nothing," he says. "I've got nothing to lose."

"I've been where you are right now," she says. "Don't sit here and lie to me like that."

"I'm not," he says defiantly.

"Do you think you'll forget her? Is that it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asks.

He gathers more ice cream in his spoon.

"You're afraid to let go of her."

"I shouldn't have to," he says angrily.

"Everyone has to sometime."

"I'm not sure I want to yet."

She nods. An hour later, the ice cream is long gone and he fixes them margaritas. The plan never has a chance to work. 

————

They spend the last week in Fiji sober and silent. She pours what's left of their alcohol supply down the kitchen sink while he stands there and watches. They settle for sipping on frappuccinos and chewing on ice cubes to forget the heat. 

He sits there for hours, listening to her talk about the bits and pieces of her life that the agency hasn't touched yet. Her mouth curls up into a smile that makes him grin when she talks about her friends. He laughs as she waves her hands around animatedly to demonstrate a point. He observes a difference in her when she talks about the past – she seems freer, lighter somehow – but her eyes remain the same. They scream for a normal life and hold onto the pain that comes from knowing she can never have it.

————

They smile when they see him walk through the double doors of the agency four weeks later. They hand him a mission folder and he just nods his head in acknowledgement. He starts to leave the conference room when one of them calls him.

"Agent Lennox."

"Yes?"

"How was your trip?"

He pauses to consider his answer for a moment.

"I had good company."

They smile. He shattered, she glued the pieces back together, and now, four weeks later, everything is back to normal.


End file.
